Tea with a Side of Blood
by BuBuWinter
Summary: Not every wizard is the destined "Savior of the Spiral". Everyone has their own story, their own character, be it for good or for evil. (One-shot collection. 100 Themes Challenge. Accepting requests.)
1. Introduction

**Introduction:**

"_When a woman is talking to you, listen to what she says with her eyes." _-Victor Hugo

* * *

The echoing noise of heels clicking against the stone-worked floor had warned Diego soon enough. Quickly he shut the book he had been reading, shuffled some papers about the desk to make things look convincing enough, quickly shot to his feet - or rather hooves - and stood at his full length. The Unicorn didn't like that noise. He didn't like the cause of it much better.

Actually, he was fairly certain the cause was worse. Much worse

There was a rapping on the door, a rhythmic three-course pounding before the door was promptly opened, the handle quite literally leaving a dent in his office wall. And there, standing in the doorway, was none other than his _lovely _Battlematron associate, Scruvy Whiteshard. Or she would have been lovely had it not been for the angry glint in her heterochromia red-blue eyes and the frown upon her lips.

_Ah, so it's one of _those _days._

"Diego," her raspy voice was a quiet hiss as she stomped over to the Duelmaster, who merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You need to set more restrictions."

"To what?" A mixture of the hot breath blowing into her face and the irritation that came with his calm, sarcastic tone caused Scurvy to scrunch her nose up in mingled disgust and irritation. She glared daggers up at the anthro, her face turning a mild shade of red.

It was _definitely _one of those days.

"To the PvP guidelines, s'wit!" The silver-haired women snapped. Diego frowned, leaning back against his chair and examining the Theurgist in front of him. Some ten or so years ago, Scurvy would have started a petition to end restrictions to provide a more realistic battle simulation, a better system of training and preparing for the real world and it's many dangers. Now it seemed to be nothing _but _restrictions.

"There are enough restrictions set in place, Kerstin." He replied calmly. Scurvy huffed and turned around pointedly, crossing her arms.

"You would say that," she glanced over her shoulder, "even though there's a new way of cheating high rankers use."

"And you think battles in the real world are fair?"

"But-"

"Kerstin!" Strangely enough, raising his voice was enough to stop Scurvy's argument of "PvP is not the real world". She let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders sagging.

"No, they aren't."

Diego knew something had happened to her, something that took away her optimism, her carelessness, and replaced them with cruel professionalism and bitterness. He didn't know what had happened to her - and he didn't have the right to know, considering their current relationship. But whatever it was, t was enough to shatter their relationship to the point he could only refer to her by her real name. Despite himself, he felt pity welling up in him, and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Then he remembered who he was dealing with and forced his hand back to his side.

Beyond the office in the adjoining hall, a young girl with fluffy blue hair and garbed in standard red apprentice robes. She looked quite scared, amber eyes wide as she looked about her, hugging her wand to her chest. Obviously she had gotten lost in the massive building. When she saw the two heads of the Arena, she seemed to relax slightly, and hesitantly she approached the previously slammed-open door.

"E-excuse me, but I seem to have gotten lost. Can...you show me the way to the Mooshu Arena? Please?"

Scurvy glanced pointedly at Diego, and whatever sense of pity he felt for her vanished with the cold look in her multicolored eyes. Shaking his head in mild exasperation, he turned to the young girl and smiled warmly.

"Of course, my lady! My associate and I would love to help you!" If looks could kill, Diego would have been a rotting corpse with the ensuing glare he received at the word 'we'. She didn't argue though, seeing it as an obligation to act more mature around students. Content Diego rested a hand on the girl's shoulder, taking the lead to the Mooshu-themed arena, with Scurvy trailing a few paces behind.

"Is there a reason as to why you need the Mooshu arena? If you're fighting, you would have clocked out by now."

"I'm watching bis sis duel," the young girl explained, relaxing as the walking, talking unicorn spoke to her. "She's a Grandmaster Pyro! I want to be like her someday. She's the best fighter ever!"

"I bet she is!" Diego laughed with a slight glance at Scurvy. She looked completely indifferent about the situation, and shrugging he turned back as they approached the main doors to the Mooshu arena. He opened the doors, and scurrying to the front seats the girl called back a quick thank you. As Scurvy turned to leave, Diego grabbed her arm, looking at her pointedly.

"We are going to watch." Not waiting for a response, he pushed her towards the last row of spectator seats, and grumbling to herself she reluctantly obliged.

It was a two-on-two match of the same level range. Two girls were stationed on the left, including the young girl's presumed sister, and on the right two guys, both of which were Conjurors, so blading and shielding proved rather fruitless, which explained the lack of boosts. There were two types of battles at the Arena: hands-on and magic-only. This was a magic only duel.

"Do you know any of them?" Diego asked his associate out of blatant curiosity. Scurvy nodded absently.

"The boys are Liam and Finn Nightstrike, brothers who have the arrogance of Drake and with the strength to match. Excellent when teamed up, but lacking otherwise. The Diviner girl is Alura Leafsword, the only storm-using mage in a family of Theurgists. Strong offense, low defense. The Pyromancer is Tara Longshot. Well-rounded and a damn good battler, popular too."

"Like you?" A pause.

"Perhaps...back in the day." Scurvy agreed solemnly, running a hand through her silvery hair with an absent look in her eyes. Deciding not to press further, he turned his gaze back to the battle, a small smile gracing his features.

"I remember when you first joined the Arena. The smuggest apprentice I've yet to see, and a Theurgist no less." Diego murmured thoughtfully, reflecting back to that day. Surprisingly, she smiled. It was faint, and in the dim light of the arena it was hardly noticeable, but he saw it.

"I remember how I first introduced myself to you…" Scurvy allowed a slight chuckle to escape her mouth, and even Diego smirked at the memory.

"How did it go again? 'Duelmaster my butt. I bet once I level up some more,"

"I'll be tons better than you." The last part they chorused together softly in amused smile vanished for Scurvy's lips, her eyes half-closing in thought. Diego frowned.

"What happened, Scurv.?" Suddenly, the battlematron stood, smoothing out her velvet green skirt and closing her eyes.

"It's Kerstin," she murmured, half in mild anger, half in...sadness? He couldn't be sure. "And it's something you don't need to know." She turned to make her way back into the halls, but before she passed she glanced at him through her one red eye. "Oh, and Diego,"

"Yes?" Aqua eyes met multicolored ones for a split second, a mix of memories and emotions swirling in their depths.

"Introduce yourself to more combatants. Fight more. It'll give you something to do other than brooding in your office."

With that, Scurvy left, leaving Diego alone to watch as the Pyromancer struck down her opponents with a single spell."


	2. Complicated

**Complicated**

"_Oh Luke, you wild, beautiful thing. You crazy handful of nothin'." - _Dragline (George Kennedy) in "Cool Hand Luke"

Brecken had never been in a prison before. It was...grimey.

And unwelcoming.

And smelly.

The blue-haired girl wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste, adjusting the fedora atop her head as if to distract herself from her unpleasant surroundings, though it was to no avail. The guard guiding her through the muggy halls glanced over his shoulder, marine-colored eyes sparking with unsuppressed amusement, a smile on his bearded face. "Not used to the criminal life, madame?"

"Not in such settings," the thaumaturge answered carefully. The guard smirked, and without providing any further response he proceeded down deeper into the prison hold, and the deeper they went the more humid and unsatisfyingly foggy things became. Brecken, stuffing her hands in her pockets, raised an eyebrow as cells at last came into sight after what seemed like an eternity of traversing through the various halls of Wizard City's underground dungeon system. The cells were dark inside, with shadows and fog hiding whatever criminal was confined behind the rusty bars. Not even a silhouette could be distinguished from her distance.

"Ever compare criminals to caged animals, guardsmen?" Brecken asked casually, eyebrow quirked as she scrutinized every object and cell gate they walked by.

"Can't say that I have, madame."

"Never? I would've thought it be the norm amongst your kind. The owner and the pets. When the pets get naughty, to the cage they go." She imitated shoving someone into a cage, clicking her tongue as she locked an imaginary door. The guard once again gave no response, though perceptive young Brecken caught the downturn of his lips as his previously respectful nature faltered with her comment. Instead of continuing the conversation of animals in cages, he asked:

"Mind me asking why you wanted to come down here?"

Brecken shrugged, tapping a finger to her chin nonchalantly. "To meet characters, I suppose. Just because you go to a wizard school with magicians around you doesn't mean you live the interesting life with interesting people."

As the guard opened his mouth to respond, there was a loud clang as some metal object was thrown down on the ground, resounding from further down the hall. Exchanging a glance with his young visitor, the guard rushed toward the noise, Brecken following more slowly, hands still stuffed in her tunic pockets, golden eagle scepter hooked on her forearm. Despite her calm, classic facade, she was curious, intrigued by what had made the noise. She rushed to catch up to the guard.

He had stopped in front of a particularly large cell, lance in hand, a stoic, unreadable expression etched on his face as he stared in front of him. Just behind the bars, a visible outline despite the thick layer of mist, was a girl no older than Brecken was, with long, surprisingly well-groomed hair and a lean, feminine form. Her face, however, was shadowed over, hidden by darkness and mist. Brecken took a tentative step closer to the bars. Still, the face could not be seen.

"I heard ya conversation there, friends." The girls voice had a thick Marleybonian accent, one that could perhaps be described as a feminine version of Arthur Wethersfield's own voice. As she spoke, the girl took a step forward, and Brecken couldn't help but flinch away from the bars. The girl was..._disfigured. _A long scar stretched and curved from the top her her head, nicking her left ear and blinding that eye before crossing over the bridge of her nose to her opposite cheek. It was one jagged mass of twisted pink flesh, an old wound that never healed, a wound that gave her one thing: character.

Scars of that degree were _not _common. Brecken felt mortified yet intrigued at the same time. _What a strange blend of emotions. _

A wide smile spread across her face, spanning from cheek to cheek, obscuring the scar even more. "You said you wanted to meet a character, friend?" There was a certain slyness to the girl's thick voice, full of careful persuasion and deceit. Brecken gave no response.

The guard knelt close to her ear. "She's not a character I'd want to meet, madame. She's a pirate."

"Oh come now, Jarvis," the girl half purred, half-groaned, resting her hands on her hips with a mocking pout on her face. "I ain't as bad as some."

The guard paid her no heed, instead looking intently at Brecken, waiting for her decision on the prisoner's silent proposal. Brecken turned back to the girl, intentionally shrugging to see her response. The prisoner's smile broadened, and from the folds of her large, prison-issued cloth pants, she pulled out a golden coin, which reflected the light of a nearby torch.

"How about a game of chance, then? If it lands on heads, you come in and I'll tell ya a tale or two. If it lands on tails, I'll let you find some other 'character' to pry open. I guarantee none will be as willing as I am." The girl twirled the coin in her fingers, slowly, as if to tempt Brecken into playing her little game. The blue-haired girl eyeballed the coin curiously, her golden eyes twinkling in the half light. Finally, she spoke:

"You're on, criminal."

"Madame, I don't think -" Brecken waved a hand for silence, and Jarvis reluctantly forced back his interjection of 'it's not a good idea, madame', standing back and watching with hard eyes as the sly smile curl the prisoner's lips once again. The prisoner twirled the coin once again before tossing it high in the air, almost to the point of it impacting the stone roof, before it fell back down and landed squarely on her palm. When she unclenched her fingers, the head of a phoenix sparkled, shimmering in such a way that it might have been a metaphor for mocking laughter. The girl looked up and winked.

"Well then, _madame, _I guess I win the game." Mocking. She was mocking both Brecken and Jarvis now, as if they both just fell into a regretful trap. The guard's grip tightened angrily around the shaft of his lance as the prisoner snapped her fingers, ordering him to unlock her cell gate to allow Brecken in.

"Madame, you don't have to." Jarvis once again tried to pull Brecken out of the deal the two had made, but the thaumaturge merely shook her head.

"A deal's a deal, guardsmen. Open the gate." Jarvis at last did as he was told, though all the while he glared angry blue daggers at the scar-faced criminal. She simply winked at him and backed away from the cell bars, hands raised as if to show she was not going to attempt to run away. Brecken proceeded cautiously inside, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her shortsword as mist and darkness devoured her.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Brecken could make out the shadow of a table, along with two chairs. Stale, mold-ridden bread and a pitcher containing an unfamiliar liquid substance sat upon it. A stone bed with a ragged brown sheet sat to the side, looking as if it had hardly been used by the cell's current occupant. Aside from those few things, however, the cell was devoid of any real decoration or conformities, not even a proper toilet or wash system. Brecken was suddenly _very _glad she had a small, rinky-dink dorm rather than a cell.

"Sorry for the mess, love," the prisoner twirled around and opened her arms out in greeting, half-bowing to Brecken. "I'm not used to having visitors."

"I imagine you aren't." The prisoner smirked and sat down in one of the chairs, staring tentatively at the stale bread in front of her. After a moment of thought, she called to Jarvis, asking if some decent food might be brought for "the madame". Moldy bread apparently wasn't suiting for a guest. Jarvis had hesitated, as taking orders from prisoners often caused him to do, but he left anyhow to fetch some more edible food.

Brecken leaned over the table, hands clasping in front of her lips, golden eyes scrutinizing the girl in front of her. "So, what stories can I expect to hear from you?"

"Any and all stories, miss…"

"Winter. Brecken Winter." The prisoner quirked an eyebrow.

"Did you know, miss, that if you replace the first 'e' in Brecken, your name would be Broken Winter?" The prisoner's one, still-seeing deep blue eye twinkled with mischief. When Brecken gave no response, the prisoner shrugged and leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the table. "Just an observation, love. Something you n' I have in common, Winter, is the habit of asking pointless questions, on subjects of animals n' cages n' names."

"You heard that, huh?" Brecken smirked. James smiled and nodded, but before a proper response could be made, Jarvis came with two plates of food, or at least what Brecken thought was food. There were odd, dark mixtures of herbs sitting besides bowls of thick, foul-smelling cream. The guard set the plates in front of the two young girls. While Brecken looked disgusted and even a bit offended by the food laid out in front of her, the prisoner eyed it hungrily. She winked once again at Jarvis and nodded her thanks. She immediately started devouring her meal, and when she noticed Brecken had yet to even pick up her spoon, she laughed, the hearty, jovial sound echoing throughout the cell.

"Not every meal in your life is going to be steak and fries, Winter."

"I know. It's just...even on quests I have better food than this." Brecken wrinkled her nose in distaste. "A few berries found on a bush are more appetizing than this." She shook her head, moved the bowl away from her, then leaned back against the table. The prisoner smirked, taking a swig from her flask of alcohol.

"Ask any question you like, madame."

Brecken thought for a moment, examining the prisoner as she ate, watching her muscles ripple and her scar twitch with every one of her movements. She thought about that golden phoenix coin, about its reflection upon being struck by torchlight.

"The coin." The prisoner looked up curiously from her meal. Brecken stared intently at her from across the table. "Tell me a story about your phoenix coin."

The prisoner smiled. It wasn't her usual smile though. It lacked a certain slyness, a certain deceit. It was simply thoughtful. Soft. "My my, Winter, an odd question right from the start."

The prisoner sat back comfortably in her seat and pulled out the mentioned coin, twirling it. On one side, as previously mentioned, was the head of a phoenix. On the other, a flaming wing. "Your wish, madame, is my command."

* * *

"_It was some odd years ago, eight if I'm not kidding myself. I had just run away from my estate, fast as a centaur on a hunt. I had no money, no food. Nothing but the clothes on my back and a sharp wit of a brain…."_

The sharp snapping of whips from up deck was what woke her. Deep sapphire-colored eyes snapped opened, wide as an owls. She sat up and pulled herself back behind a large crate, pulling up her knotted crimson hair into a messy bun. Sweat was a reflective sheen upon her face and body, covering every part of her pale, bare skin and soaking into her now dingy and foul clothes. She pushed back against a chest, knees pulled to her chest.

The snapping of whips stopped, the sound being replaced by the rushed stomping of feet coming down a small flight of stairs. The girl's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened impossibly wider. _They got me. They got me this time. _

Of course, the ten-year-old had known it was stretch the moment she first boarded the ship. The captain, she'd heard, was a mage, and all mages had the ability to recognize certain magical signatures. If he'd detected hers, then naturally she'd be found, no matter how well she hid. The sound of rushing footsteps grew louder, and thus closer.

"Squirt's over here, cap'n!"

The girl inhaled deeply, drawing a small, dull knife she'd found on the previous ship. _If I'm going down, I go down in a fight._

Unfortunately for her, it wasn't much of a fight. The moment the crew members had found her, they grabbed her knife by the blade and pulled her with it, holding her hands over her head and forcing her up the stairs to the deck. A tall, bulky man waited for her there, beady green eyes fixed harshly on her round face. She had to look away.

"This is her?" The presumed captain quirked an eyebrow. "She's smaller than I expected. And rugged." He walked slowly over to her, going down on one knee. His voice was low, calm, but edged with an unspoken threat. "What are you doing on my ship?"

Without blinking an eye, the girl said: "Sightseeing."

A few of the younger, more immature men chuckled, not even completely hushing up when the captain glared at them. He turned his attention back to the girl, grabbing her chin to make her look at him. "What's your name, you little brat?"

A moment of hesitance, then: : "Liarisme." It wasn't her real name of course, but a cover, and she purposely pronounced it as "liar is me". More laughs. More cruel stares. A mischievous smile curled the ends of "Liarisme's" plush lips as the captain stood up and crossed his arms.

"Well...Liarisme…" he shook his head at the ridiculousness of such a name. "Do you know what can happen to you for bein' a stowaway on my ship?"

Liarisme tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Why sir, I can't seem to remember. Was it being forced to jump off the plank, or was it getting some food? Why, I do hope it's the latter of the two!"

"Hush your yap, child!" The captain barked, his irritation reaching its peak as even more men joined in the laughing. Liarisme raised her hands in mock defeat.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, captain, before you lose your wits and your hat. I know it's the plank, but how about a deal?"

The captain exchanged a glance with his crew members. When they gave him no certain answer, he turned back to her, eyes narrowed to slits. "What kind of deal?"

"One to grant me a free ride to my destination and to keep my life." Out of all her smart-alec answers, it was her most honest one which won her the most laughter. Setting the girl free because of some possible deal, not to mention giving her ride? It was impossibly and absolutely ridiculous. Liarisme, however, was very serious, and the laughter did not deter her from her request. She looked at the captain straight in the eye despite the overwhelming fear that dwelled within her.

To everyone's surprise - including hers - the captain looked thoughtful. "Very well, girl. How about a game of chance?" He pulled out a sparkling, amber-gold coin, a _phoenix_ coin. "Heads, we take you to wherever you're going, we spare your life, _and _I'll throw in this special coin just for you. Land on tails, however…" The captain ran a hand along his neck, making a squelching noise. Liarisme's eyes lit up expectantly.

"Deal." The captain then flipped the coin, and it flickered like a tiny flame as it spun through the air. It reached higher and higher, and with each half-second a new bead of sweat formed on the girl's head as tension and anxiety built. It seemed like an eternity when the coin finally landed in the captain's hand.

And it landed on heads.

Without a sound, laugh, or look other than that of a knowing smirk, Liarisme swiped the coin up before his hand could close around her new prize. The captain simply stared at her in shock, and her smile broadened.

"I win." Liarisme's whispered teasingly, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. The captain, who was previously tense the entire encounter, finally seemed to relax, and he stood at his full length.

"So it seems." He bowed his head. "_Liarisme, _you won a complicated little game called -"

"Luck." Liarisme winked her signature wink. "I know. I'm very good at playing it, too. It comes naturally. Now, about that destination…"

* * *

"The captain was amazed. He claimed no one was as lucky as he was. I told him the secret was to have a double-headed coin." The prisoner then pulled out a second coin - the one she used to lure Brecken in - and it was just as she had suggested to the captain in the story: heads on both sides of the coin.

"Well then, _Liarisme," _Brecken smirked, eyes sparkling, her eyes reminiscent of the two coins the prisoner held. "That's quite the tall-tale."

The prisoner shrugged. "You asked for a story, sweetheart. Tall-tale or not, I say it how it is."

Jarvis then came into the cell, kneeling close to Brecken's ear. "Madame, Lydia Greyrose needs you," he whispered so the prisoner didn't hear. The thaumaturge hesitated, then nodded, standing from her seat and following him out. She hesitated at the gate, looking over her shoulder.

"I never got your name." The prisoner smiled her same old smile.

"James. My real name is James Heart."

"Well James, you know what you are?" The prisoner shrugged; she was many things. Brecken smiled and winked at her. "A complicated young liar."

"I'm not a liar, Winter." Her sapphire colored eyes sparkled with an odd blend of mischief and seriousness. "What I do, it's not lying. It's making a story of the truth."

With those words ringing in Brecken's ears, the thaumaturge took her leave.

**AN: I decided against going full-blown Scurvy with this 100 theme challenge thing. xP These are two characters who never got any story-time that finally get a crappy one-shot done for them. :D In any case, hope you enjoyed! **

**Review Reply:**

**Majestic War: SCURVY FOR THE WIN INDEED. And don't worry, there'l certainly be more Scurvy to come. :P**

**Next one-shot: Making History**


	3. Making History

**Making History:**

_"I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past." - Thomas Jefferson_

* * *

PART ONE: A Blacksmith's Decision

The metallic clanging of the hammer pounding against the anvil sounded above the antics of the bear cubs and the chatter of the villagers. Some of the older ones took note of young Aderyn Brightwind's dedication as she created, mended, and broke down pieces of armor in her master's stead.

"You've been doing good work here, Bird," Cahir grumbled kindly, ruffling the fourteen-year-old's tortoiseshell colored hair. Cahir, Ice magic practitioner and clothier, had been one of the many who doubted the human's skill in blacksmithing armors and weapons of a bear's size and bulk, but after some months of her first year in training passed, he was pleasantly surprised. She crafted nearly as well as her master and trainer Valik, with the burns and cuts on her muscular arms to prove it.

Aderyn smiled broadly at the praise and dipped her head respectfully. "Thank you, Cahir." She then handed him a silver-plated chestplate, and while it lacked the exquisite designing of Valik's handcrafted works, it was nearly as good in terms of functionality and protection. Cahir smiled thoughtfully down on her.

"You miss him, don't you?" Aderyn shrugged, turning back to the anvil and placing a small iron strip of metal on top.

"It's not like he's gone anywhere."

"But he is your master and has worked with you for many years." Cahir sat down at a nearby table, carefully examining the armor he held in his beefy paws. Adern slammed her hammer down onto the strip, bending it ever so slightly.

"Eight years doesn't exactly equate to 'many'." Cahir could hear the restraint in her voice, and despite the slight mocking sarcasm in her tone, he knew the response could've been more...curt. And offensive. _Cub's learned to hold her tongue._

"For you it does in your young age." As he said this, Aderyn bit her lip, placing her strip of metal - now broken into parts with bent endings - into a smoldering pile of coal. Cahir cocked a furry eyebrow, standing to look at the strips of bent metal. "What are you making, Bird?"

The human girl shrugged, pulling off her black leather gloves. The clothier took that as an expression of "I'm experimenting" and settled back down into his seat. Aderyn sat across from him, fiddling around with the silver rings around each of her fingers. There was a long silence, and both of them refused to look each other in the eye.

"He wants me to go to Ravenwood." It was Aderyn who spoke first, and the comment came as such a shock to Cahir that he had to perk his rounded ears, wondering if he'd heard right. _Ravenwood? _Aderyn nodded as if reading his thoughts. "To," she made air quotations with her fingers, "harness my _natural abilities in magic." _

"But why Ravenwood?" The elder bear was puzzled. "The school only accepts those they reach out to, not those who wander in. It is why so few in Grizzleheim actually go to such a school."

"He claims someone named Halston Balestrom would help me become a better inventor. He's a professor there." Aderyn bit her lip once more, taking off the top ring of her middle finger and putting it back on in a smooth, repetitive motion. _She's nervous. _

Cahir settled back in his seat, the pieces slowly coming together. "You...do have a natural abundance of mana." Even with his mundane Ice abilities he could sense her powerful magical signature, a rippling aura of energy which surrounded her short, muscled frame. Aderyn glared up at him, amber eyes alight, warning him that she had never asked for his opinion. Cahir grunted. "I'm not trying to sway you, Bird. I only state the truth. I understand Valik's wishes."

"Oh, I'm sure you do, Ice wizard," Aderyn hissed, crossing her arms and slinking back into her seat. Cahir waited patiently for the fire in her eyes to dim and for the essence of nervousness to return. He reached out a massive black paw and rested it on her much smaller, ring-fingered hand. She felt cold, and to show this she shivered.

"I…" she was at a loss of words, a rare occurrence for her. She gripped at his paw, fingers digging into his thick fur. "I don't know what to do."

"Do you want to make Valik proud?" As one of the few who understood the extent of Valik's relationship with his apprentice, he knew that they were family, a father and a daughter. It was a friendship and loyalty which transcended the normal, rather partial respect humans and bears had for each other. Hesitantly, in an abnormal show of nervous tension, Aderyn nodded. Cahir smiled gingerly at the young, aspiring blacksmith and inventor. "Then do as he wishes."

Another shiver of tension coursed through her body. Then a nod.

She proceeded into the workshop then, with a brisk farewell to Cahir, grabbing some fruits and her most prized possessions: two short swords, intricately designed, enchanted silver pieces of deadly artwork that could slice through ghosts, souls, and spirits. They had been passed down to her by Valik on her tenth birthday. Every day since, she practiced, swearing to become a master in the art of swordsmanship.

Aderyn stood briefly at Valik's bedside, gripping tightly at her sick father-figure's furry paws. "I'm going to Ravenwood."

Valik opened one mint green eye, a warm glow entering the otherwise cold color. "Good."

And she left.

PART II: Ravenwood

Merle Ambrose, Headmaster at the Ravenwood School for the Magical Arts, was used to young people coming up to him and asking to be welcomed into the school. It was a common occurrence with local children as well as those from Marleybone and Dragonspyre. However, it was rare - _incredibly_ rare - to have a child from Grizzleheim, stained with soot and with a wit to match that of a grumpy, uncensored war veteran - come to him.

In fact, Aderyn did not approach him at all. She was taken to him

"_Watch it!" Aderyn looked back over her shoulder. A young boy no older than she was glared red-eyed daggers at her, a look of pure disgust etched onto his face. The Grizzleheimian-raised girl smiled a curt half smile. _

"_I'm sorry. Did I ruin your pretty little shoes?" The boy's eyes blazed._

"_Your dirt would ruin anyone's clothes!" He spat back. Aderyn turned fully to face him, hands stuffed into her leather overall pockets; she hadn't bothered to change since leaving her work as a blacksmith. _

"_And?"_

"_And!" The boy huffed, running a hand through his blonde hair in what might have been exasperation. "Don't you realize how disgusting you look?"_

_Aderyn blinked innocently at the boy. She waved a hand dismissively in the air before turning her back on him. "It's called work. You do work, you get dirtied up. Might want to look into it." _

_She wasn't much surprised when the egotistical boy charged at her, fully intending on striking her. He was surprised when she spun easily away and planted a fist firmly into his stomach, the silver rings she wore only adding to its bruising effect. He was sent crashing to the floor a few feet away. She knelt down beside him for a moment. "Might want to clean that dirt off before going to the Theurgist." _

The girl was a full head shorter than the boy was, but she possessed more muscular bulk than half of the guys at his school. Indeed, she was filthy, covered in soot, dirt, burns, and other such scars. She possessed all of the traits that Ambrose identified with her being an apprentice blacksmith, and a good one too.

He was aware she had not received a blow of any kind by the boy, according to witness accounts that is, yet she held her stomach in what might have been pain. He sensed her great pool of mana, of energy's natural attraction to her.

She possessed psychic hyper-empathy.

He shouldn't let her into his school, picking a fight with one of his students when she wasn't one herself, but such a gift could not go ignored.

"Why have you come here, young one?"

"Why are you considering?" Aderyn glared at Ambrose with undisguised hatred, though if it was truly directed at him he couldn't be sure.

"Because of your hyper-empathy. It's a rare gift, to feel the pain of others, and -"

"It's not one I want to disclose to the public." He wasn't reaching her, and she made it very clear with her statement. He sat back, puzzled. Ambrose had met such ones with her gift before, and they were happy to use their intense sense of feeling for good, and they were not shy about it. This one was different.

Aderyn took in a deep breath as if to relax herself, removing her hand from her stomach. "I come because my master, Valik Ironsmith, wants me to harness my magic and to meet with an inventor, Balestrom. Halston Balestrom."

"Our Storm professor." Ambrose nodded. "He works here, yes. And you come to fulfill Valik's wish?" She nodded, her short black-ginger, tortoiseshell hair bobbing with the movement. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I accept your admittance then, in order for you to join his class, though I really shouldn't. I do, however, have one condition."

Amber eyes met clear blue ones. "You must also learn Theurgy. Only the teacher will know of your gift."

The silence that proceeded felt like an eternity. Finally, Aderyn gave a curt nod. "Deal."

PART III: Apologies

"_You _were accepted into the school?" Aderyn recognized the smug voice immediately, and cursing under her breath she turned to meet the same blonde boy she had beaten the day she was admitted. His jaw was hung open in shock, and he wore the same purple novice robes she wore. _Fantastic. _

"Did you clean the dirt from your robes?" She sneered, turning and walking away. He ran to catch up to her, treading annoyingly close to her heels.

"How were you -"

"Who attacked who?" Aderyn asked curtly, cutting off his ridiculous question. The boy stuttered something incomprehensible. Aderyn turned on him, jabbing a ringed finger into his chest. "_You _charged at me, pretty. I was defending myself."

She walked off again, entering the torch-lit cave leading to Ravenwood. Still the boy refused to leave.

"Look," he said, coming up beside her and desperately trying to match her brisk pace. "Maybe we got off to the wrong start. My name's Benjamin." he extended a hand, which she refused to accept.

"Aderyn."

Benjamin paused briefly. "That's a Grizzleheimian name. What's it mean?"

"Bird." She walked faster.

"Bird? You like to fly or what?"

Aderyn turned, walking up the steps to the girl's dorm entrance without giving a proper response. Benjamin stopped as she opened the door. He let out a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry."

Aderyn frowned and glanced back at him through the corner of her eye. "Yeah, me too."

She shut the door and prepared for her new life.

**AN: Of a different structure than the other two and not totally related to the theme I wrote this on. xD Still, I wanted to write about her. She's my newest character I made for Icecakequeen's story, "A Reach Into The Worlds Beyond". I like her, though some things need to be tweaked. Anyways, feel free to review! :) (I know, not my greatest work, but this was written at night as a spur-of-the-moment thing, so 'tis to be expected to be not-so-great xD)**

**Review Responses:**

**Rebecca Ripple: Yarr, thank ye for the compliment, matey! ;) This one isn't that great, but I hope you enjoyed nonetheless. xD**


	4. Rivalry

_**Rivalry:**_

'_I embrace my rival, but only to strangle him.' - Jean Racine_

* * *

"James Heart is a criminal."

"So were you, once upon a time."

"Not like her. I never lied the way _she _does."

Willow cast her dust-colored gaze upon her hybrid friend. Aglaia Chalupnik would never be an easy soul to decipher, not as a student and certainly not as a personal guard to spymaster Praxis. Her luminescent green dragon gaze bore unforgivingly through the window, looking directly at the pirate the two were discussing. Not much had changed about James. She still had the scar, and she still had the smart-alec tongue that made her so positively famous.

James looked in their direction, and though Willow knew that the pirate could only see her reflection, she smiled in that twisted way of hers. She knew they were watching.

"I'm assuming she's growing impatient?" A new voice joined the conversation, one light and rasping, dripping softly with venom. Praxis Starbane approached them from behind, her arms folded as she cast her scrutinizing gaze on James. In truth, James didn't look at all impatient, but both Willow and Aglaia were deathly aware that Praxis could see beyond the exterior. If Praxis said James was growing impatient, it was probably true.

"Indeed." Aglaia growled lowly, her eyes still on her enemy, her pale, clawed hands digging into her partially scaled arms. Praxis nodded curtly.

"Let us go in, then." Together the odd trio of women proceeded into the steel interrogation room, with the spymaster in the lead and Aglaia close behind her. Willow and Aglaia both instinctively took up positions by the door.

_Don't see why Ambrose thinks Praxis needs guards with her. _Praxis Starbane, before she was the Spiral-wide spymaster, was a very skilled and deadly necromanstress, and to Willow it seemed she only grew stronger with each passing year. Aglaia cast willow a warning glare as if she head read the younger girls thoughts, and grudgingly Willow turned to watch the interrogation.

There was silence for a long while, as if both women - who were renowned for their intelligence - were examining each other. It was Praxis who spoke first.

"Do you know who I am?" It was a simple question, in her calmest tone of voice. James smiled that lopsided grin of hers.

"Sure I do. Any good criminal knows the great Praxis Starbane, transcendent Necromancer and spymaster of the Spiral's elite governments. Thirty-one years old, a master of intimidation and tracking, a lover of justice, and the heartthrob of all the boys who lay eyes on you." James winked, clicking her tongue and adopting a rather smug and teasing look. Willow heard Aglaia growl slightly, as if she were growing annoyed. Praxis, however, looked on as expressionless as ever, her golden hair bouncing lightly on her shoulders as she leaned forward slightly.

"And I know you, captain James Heart, or rather Isabelle Pearlgem. A former noble, you left the luxury life for a life of adventure, taking on your present name. Now, you're a renowned adventurer and criminal, and you stole articles from the archived sections of the Wizard City library."

Jame's shrugged her broad shoulders. "I see you live up to your name. But I didn't steal those damned articles."

"Who, then? And mind your tongue, pirate."

"Someone else, not a pirate, but a student of, uh, what's that school again? The prestigious one? Ah, yes, _Ravenwood. _That's it. Yeah, it was a student from there, a girl by the name of Rebecca Ripple. A powerful one, that girl. Don't know why, but she did."

"You lie!" Aglaia took a dangerous step forward, baring her fangs and claws. James turned her attention towards the Draconian hybrid, looking her up and down, from her dragon-like feet to the long plume of ebony hair upon her head.

"I don't lie, Ebony," she stated slowly, her blue eye glistening with emotions her blind one failed to reflect. "I make a story of the truth."

Suddenly, Aglaia sprung at the pirate, the two of them landing on the floor in an ungracious know of scales and scarred skin. James was laughing the entire time, even as Aglaia raked her long, sharp claws down the scarred side of the pirate's face. As Willow shot forward intending to end the fight before the consequences grew fatal, Praxis stood and held an arm out, blocking the smaller guard. The spymaster walked slowly up to the fighting duo before she suddenly flung out a hand quick as a bird. She grabbed Aglaia by her hair and dragged her to her feet with a surprising strength, causing the latter to yelp unexpectedly. She threw the hybrid towards the door before grabbing James by the back of her collared shirt and forcefully sitting her back down, not at all acknowledging her bleeding wound. Praxis glared icily at the pirate before turning back to Aglaia - who was still fuming - and shoving her out of the room.

Praxis's golden eyes glared daggers at her most experienced guard. "You will not participate in these matters." Without another word, Praxis turned back around, shutting the door behind her. Willow awkwardly stayed out with Aglaia, glancing at her with a small frown. Aglaia's eyes were wide with shock, her initial anger gone.

"Lee," Willow spoke slowly. "How did James know your...alias?"

Aglaia didn't meet Willow's gaze. She looked down, as if embarrassed, or perhaps in shame.

"It's all in the past, Will." Slowly, with her head down, Aglaia walked away, with Willow staring after her in confusion. When the hybrid was out of sight, Willow went back into the interrogation room, to see if it was indeed Rebecca Ripple who stole those articles, or if Aglaia was right, and she was simply lying.

* * *

**Yeah, short, I know, but I guess it's a decent lil' snippet of some longer story I might do throughout this 100 themes thing. xD this, in case you can't tell, takes place loooong after the events in "Complicated", though I can't exactly say it's a sequel. xD Hope you enjoyed!**

**Review Replies:**

**Amma: Thank ya! :D I thought it'd be a bit different from the norm. :3 And I actually had her as a Theurgist at first, but changed it to fit her character. xD**

**Sandstorm: I was thinking about that, and I might actually expand it later on. Who knows? xD And I'll be sure to keep an eye out for those mistakes and fix em up...maybe. xD**

**Blood: I guess during for chapter 3, but for the entire story it's all jumbled up concerning time. :P**

_**Next theme: Unbreakable**_


	5. Unbreakable

**IMPORTANT AN:** **If you are homophobic or don't like suggested sexy-time things, don't read this specific one-shot. The sexy-time suggestiveness is very limited, if at all there, but this IS a very homosexual relationship-oriented piece. **

**Special thanks to Mider-Span for loaning me his wonderful OCs, Eron and Wolfe, and letting me twist them for my purposes! :)**

**Unbreakable**

_"Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken."_** \- **Albert Camus

* * *

Often were the times when Scurvy Whiteshard would settle herself on the roof of the Arena's main coliseum, the white palace of pit fighting, a pearl gem which currently glowed amber-gold in the light of the setting sun. Her knees were pulled close to her chest, with her face partially buried into the viridian velvet skirt she wore. Half-lidded heterochromatic eyes stared out blankly at the deceivingly peaceful-looking Unicorn Way. The wind was always stronger on the coliseum roof, and as such it buffeted her short silver hair around her, framing the general outline of her face; her high cheekbones and the gentle slope beneath them.

It wasn't long until she sensed someone come up behind her, talon-like feet a familiar song on the marble roof. Before any words could be exchanged, however, the image began to fade into a murky mess before fading entirely from her mind's eye.

She woke to the sound of a door closing.

Slowly, her eyes opened, and she was greeted by a pounding headache, her head throbbing around the temples. Her muscles ached, and she had a frighteningly familiar lack of sensation in her legs. She forced herself to look back before sleep had downed her. Yes, she remembered now. She was outside, in the rain, laying on the ground, chilled and feeling as if her hips had been crushed by some powerful force, though the cause was unknown to her. But she wasn't outside now. She was inside, her head cushioned atop a recently fluffed pillow. She had been stripped of her dress and armor, garbed in the white attire of a...patient. A hospital patient.

A coarse, scaled hand wrapped gently around hers, and turning her head slightly she saw through half-lidded eyes a dark green Draconian, with scales of a lighter shade just sprouting out from under his dress shirt. Bright yellow eyes stared down on her with concern, and a clawed finger rubbed tenderly across her calloused knuckles. His large wings twitched slightly as he looked away from her sleep-deprived face to the hand he held.

"Eron…?" She whispered hoarsely, struggling to sit up despite her body's protests. Eron quickly moved his hand away from her own and cupped her cheek gently, his other hand finding her shoulder.

"Lay down, Scurv. You're weak." His voice was barely a whisper. Scurvy frowned and found herself leaning into his hand, her lips brushing tenderly against the coarse scales. She allowed him to lay her back down, his finger stroking her cheek, and she let out a soft sigh has his hand trailed gingerly down her neck. His worry hit her with waves of sudden nausea, the emotion emanating from his large form, but she forced the sickness down, instead focusing on his touch as he caressed her neck and cheeks, soothing strokes across her skin which he knew always relaxed her.

"Where am I?" She asked, still leaning into his touch. He smiled softly, a hand brushing a few strands of silver hair out of her face.

"In the Wizard City Hospital, just by the library." His delicate smile quickly turned down into a pained frown. "Are you feeling alright?"

Scurvy thought on the question, her mind fuzzy with exhaustion and pain. She decided no, and told him "I'm not". His clawed hand hooked around her neck then, massaging the back of it as his other hand grabbed a hold of her hand once again. His worry seemed to grow with her answer, but still he managed a smile, pity, self-hate, and pain all reflecting in the slight curl of his lips. He avoided her gaze again, and this time Scurvy found the strength to give his hand a gentle squeeze. "I will be, though."

"I know." He conceded quietly, a slight laugh resounding from his throat. "You always get better down the road." The two sat together quietly, with Eron continuing to massage her skin with soothing strokes and rubs. Eventually, he grabbed both of her hands, holding them in his own. He raised one and pressed the tip of his muzzle to it. He frowned, breathing in her musty pinecone scent.

"The...doctors said this happened before." He started uncertainly, stroking her knuckles nervously. Scurvy, who had begun to drift asleep, lulled to it by the tender touches her friend seemed insistent on giving her, opened her eyes partially to look at him, her breath hitching as she saw the pain in his eyes. She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes again, remembering the pain that dominated her muscles and the senseless feeling of her legs. She tensed almost immediately, but Eron pursued the same topic. "Why didn't you write me? I could have helped you." His eyes hardened, and his voice was ridden with sorrow. He gripped her hand tightly. "I could have helped you, dammit," he grated.

Immediately, memories struck her, memories of the first time this had happened to her.

_The traitorous spirit._

_Torture._

_Cage over lava. _

_Falling crystals._

_Crushed legs. _

Scurvy suddenly let out a loud gasp, her hands instantly clutching at her sheets. Her heart pounded at an unforgivingly fast pace against her chest, and her breath seemed to be sucked from her lungs. Eron backed away, panicked and wide-eyed, as healers and nurses rushed in, sensing the turmoil within their patient. After a brief examination, one doctor grabbed a shot tube filled with a dark green serum, implanting the needle into her neck and slowly forcing the fluid in. Noting that the situation was obviously under control, the others left to continue on with their work elsewhere. The doctor who injected the serum came up to Eron, frowning slightly at him.

"Memories can be dangerous in these situations." He warned, resting a comforting hand on the Draconian's comparatively broad shoulder. "If you need information from her, Librarian, please be gentle with her."

Eron thought once about arguing with the doctor, that he _was_ being gentle with her, but a glance at Scurvy behind him, who still struggled for breath, a hand on her forehead, stopped him from saying a word. He nodded to the doctor before returning to his seat by his friend's bedside. He watched, carefully resisting the urge to wrap her in his arms as she focused on her breathing. She shuddered, eyes closing tightly, tears threatening to flow out, every one of her muscles tense once again. Eron instinctively found himself shifting closer to her, leaning out of his seat and hovering slightly over her body, a hand resting on either side of her.

Scurvy shivered beneath him, and eyes barely opened to slits, she reached up and ran a shaky hand along his muzzle to his cheek. He raised his own hand to clasp over it.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, rubbing his cheek into her hand. Her lidded eyes flashed briefly.

"Go..." she croaked quietly, the sedative obviously taking its intended effect. "Be...with..Wol..." The name she had meant to say was lost on her lips, and Eron gingerly placed her hand back down at her side as exhaustion finally claimed her body. He cupped her face once again, stroking her cheek with his thumb, feeling the soft, sensitive skin, hot with fever. Guilt shot through him, the sensation akin to venom coursing through his veins. Eron let out a soft sigh, leaning down and pressing his lips tenderly to her forehead, lingering at the softness of her burning skin, lingering on his kiss. Reluctantly, he pulled away, brushing his fingers along the side of her face. The Draconian stood up reluctantly and made his way out into the hall, feeling colder than he had since receiving the news of her accident.

Wolfe Starblade was leaning against the wall opposite of the room, his arms folded across his chest. When Eron appeared out of Scurvy's room, he shot up, instantly alert, and swiftly walked over to meet his boyfriend in a tight embrace. Eron's arms gratefully slithered around Wolfe's slim waist, burying his face into his neck and planting a tender kiss to it.

"How is she?" Wolfe demanded, pulling regretfully away from their hug. The draconian sighed and nuzzled Wolfe before fully pulling away.

"She's..." He began, but he couldn't find the words to tell him of Scurvy's condition, about how she no longer felt her legs, about her sudden panic attack brought upon by memories unknown to him. Thankfully, Wolfe seemed to understand his situation, and pulled his boyfriend into another tight embrace.

"You know Scurv. better than anyone, Eron. You know she'll pull through this. She always does."

_She always does. _Somehow, those words didn't bring Eron any sort of comfort.

…

To Wolfe's growing irritation, Eron's concern and doting over the recovering Scurvy Whiteshard had interrupted their normal...nightly rituals. When he did manage to seduce Eron, the draconian was overall uninterested, and what aggression and passion there was in their love was simply gone. Now it wasn't something Eron looked forward to, but something he felt required to do to keep his boyfriend happy.

The two laid together in bed quietly, with Eron's head resting on Wolfe's chest, his eyes half-closed in thought, his mind most likely pre-occupied with thoughts of Scurvy. Wolfe traced the fine viridian scale of his lover's back, forcing back his urges as best he could for Eron's sake. He focused instead on the cooling breeze which blew gently into the room through the partially open window, relaxing at the soothing touch of wind on his tanned skin.

Just as the man was drifting into sleep, Eron spoke up, his voice quiet. "I want Scurvy to stay here with us when she's released."

Wolfe reflected on this obviously carefully-delivered proposition. A great part of him empathized with his lover; Scurvy was his friend as well, and he had grown to greatly admire the woman. Another part of him, however, a small part which he desperately tried to force down before it became any greater, was _jealous_. Eron glanced up at his lover, waiting for a proper response. Wolfe frowned slightly, his fingers pausing against Eron's smooth-scaled back.

"Why here?" He asked carefully.

"I want to take care of her."

Against his own will, the jealous part of Wolfe grew with Eron's answer. Obviously sensing his boyfriend's growing uncertainty, Eron tilted his head back slightly, planting a gentle kiss on his jawline, soft and comforting.

"No one else can take care of her properly, show her the care she needs. She needs to be with friends." Eron tried to explain. Wolfe's violet-colored eyes flashed with a challenging light, however guarded it might have been. Eron knew his lover, however good in heart he was and however empathetic he was - both traits that drew him in from the start - there was another part of Wolfe that wasn't so passive.

"Can't Diego take her in?" Wolfe's jealousy was continuing to grow. Eron sat up slightly, resting against his elbows as he looked his lover in the eye.

"Their relationship has faltered since she's returned." His eyes flashed. "You know that by now."

Wolfe sat up completely, rubbing his face with his hands and sighing both in self-irritation at his feelings and irritation at Eron, whose mind has purely been on Scurvy since the incident. He stood, walking over to the window and crossing his arms across his chest, looking out at the dimmed Wizard City.

"One month," Wolfe hissed quietly under his breath. "She was your _girlfriend_ for one month."

He spat the word 'girlfriend' out as if it were venom on his lips, a poison to know that his beloved actually fell for a _woman_. Eron, still in their bed, stared across the room at Wolfe, gaping at him in surprise. While jealousy was a natural emotion to feel, it was never directed at Scurvy, even when he first learned of their past romantic relationship. It was uncharacteristic to see Wolfe behave in such a manner.

"_Only _one damned month!" Eron spat, bright yellow eyes flashing in the dark room. "Why are you making such a big fucking deal of this now? Scurvy's your friend, _our _friend, and-"

"You're treating her like she's still yours!" Wolfe turned on his boyfriend, glaring at him, hands clenching into fists as he let his emotions get the better of him. "Like she's _still _your girlfriend, like she's been with you for years!"

"She has been with me for years! She's one of my closest friends! Is that such a fucking sin? To be friends with someone else?"

Silence dominated the room after that, with Wolfe continuing to stare out at the Wizard City streets and Eron remaining in the bed, tearing at the thin sheets below the covers, not looking at his lover for fear of arguing again. Eventually, as they both calmed down, as the anger and misplaced jealousy dimmed down to a gentle, unprovoked flame, Eron stood and met his boyfriend by the window, strong arms wrapping around his waist as he placed a kiss to his lovers shoulder. Wolfe relaxed at his touch, pressing closer against the draconian who won his heart.

"I'm sorry," the silver-haired man murmured. "I know you're only worried because she's been your friend for so long, _our _friend. The way you dote on her though…"

"I know. I worried too much over her, and it got in the way of us."

Wolfe cupped his boyfriend's cheek in his hand, smiling fondly at him and kissing the tip of his snout. "If it helps at all, remember that Scurvy's the most unbreakable woman in the Spiral."

The most unbreakable woman. Eron reflected on the statement, and on the strength Scurvy always possessed even as a youth, both physically and in self-determination. He reflected on all the things his friend had gone through in her life, on the things he knew about as well as the things he didn't know. He reflected on the fact that even when she was on the brink of death, she always fought for what she felt was right. _Unbreakable indeed. _

Wolfe's hands slid down Eron's chest until they wrapped around his waist, a mischievous smile gracing his handsome features as he leaned forward, passionately kissing his one-and-only.

"She can stay here for recovery," Wolfe promised, eyes twinkling. "But no more neglecting me."

Eron laughed heartily, kissing his lover back and pulling him closer to his body.

"No more neglect."

* * *

**This will, for sure, be continued later in the series. Like, for. Sure. Hope you enjoyed!**

**Review Replies:**

**Guest: Anything I Can Do is very slow going, unfortunately. Both Firestorm and I developed a nasty case of writers block as well as a serious lack of time. Rest assured though, love, the story is NOT abandoned, and will hopefully be updated soon.**

**Amma: The whole rivalry relationship was totally a "go-for-it" thing for me. I initially didn't have James and Aglaia linked AT ALL, but I'm really happy I made them mortal enemies. x) And who knows, maybe your right? (My way of saying I've no idea yet why they hate each other XD)**

**Guest (cdestroyer): I might in the future, but my goal is to have 100 short stories in total. When that's completed, some linking will probably be done to make things easier for reading. **

**Sandstorm: NO, TOTALLY NOT... okay, maybe. xD I felt like putting her in for some reason. :3 And Perception is, like Anything I Can Do blahblahblah, is very slow going. It's my baby so I'm taking my time raising it to perfection. As in, actually planning and plotting things out properly and mapping out scenes. Yeah..**

**Willow: XD I actually never really played Pirate101 either. Tried, but never really got into it. xD I just really wanted to make a pirate character. :3**

_**Next**__** Theme: Obsession**_


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